This week, I want to write about something I didn’t do.
It’s a good thing. Rally. Trust me.
Last Friday I read this item in The New York Times about a black comic book festival to be held on Saturday at the Schomburg Center in Harlem. Since I aspire to experience new things (and because, especially in winter, I have a tendency towards lethargy), I decided I would go.
The next morning, after I did my errands, and ascertaining that the predicted rain was not going to happen, I went online to find out which subway to take, and what stop to get off. Alas, the website informed me that the event was sold out. Since this was a good excuse to take my pants off, I didn’t try to go anyway.
According to everything I read, it was a huge success. There were loads of people, including lots of kids and other new readers, and everyone had a fabulous time.
More important (at least to me), African American comic book writers and artists got to talk directly to fans about the kinds of comics they wanted to make and the kinds of comics they wanted to read. They talked about social justice and equal opportunities and creating community and all the other stuff that mattered to them as artists and as citizens and as readers.
These are the kinds of conventions I’ve always liked. They are small enough so that, as Miss Manners would say, “The roof is your introduction.” Because this gathering had a theme, it’s natural that all concerned would happily indulge in conversations about that topic.
I thought of this when I read this review of a new Valiant title, Faith. To quote from the lead, “Today’s comic book industry has problems. Not just editorial and creative problems but also problems from the pressures of Social Justice Warriors. These types of people make our lives miserable as comic fans. Always crying out for more diversity this and more diversity that. Most of the time you’ll discover these people don’t even read the comics they are clamoring for change to occur in. That’s always been the real pain in the ass for diversity in comics.”
I don’t know who these “Social Justice Warriors” are, nor does the reviewer cite anyone. Therefore, it is impossible to tell if they do not, in fact, buy the books for which they “clamor.” Are there not enough books aimed at the straight white cis male audience? Are there no media that will cater to his tastes? Perhaps he should go to the movies or watch television where the stories of his kind still predominate.
Back when Milestone Comics started, I was very excited to be peripherally involved, because it presented an opportunity for people outside the mainstream to tell their own stories, which I hadn’t read. Later, when I had the chance to sit in the audience for Michael Davis’ Black Panel at SDCC, I was impressed that the message wasn’t that DC or Marvel (or any publisher) owed aspiring African-American creators the right to work on their characters, but that they had their own stories to tell the way they wanted to tell them.
Maybe you don’t want to talk about African-American comic books with African-American comic book creators, or maybe you don’t want to read comics intended to tell those stories, That’s okay. Nobody is going to force you.
Hell, nobody needs you.
They sold out all the available space without you.
The Mortal Instruments book series by Cassandra Clare is one of Maddy’s favorites. It’s about a a teenage girl, Clary Fray, who has angelic blood allowing her to protect the world from demons as a Shadowhunter. Even though the 2013 movie City of Bones (based on the first book in the series) didn’t really work out that well, we were still pumped for the Freeform (the new name for ABC Family) series based on the books. It stars Katherine McNamara (Girl Vs. Monster) as Clary, Alberto Rosende as Simon, Dominic Sherwood (Taylor Swift’s “Style” video) as Jace, and Harry Shum Jr. (Glee) as Magnus Bane. But the question is…did first 2 episodes of this fantasy meet our expectations? Watch to find out.
Long time ago, as I was coming out of one of those anonymous buildings that house the motion picture business, a lovely young woman smiled as though she recognized me. I didn’t recognize her, or almost anyone else in southern Califormia, so I had to assume that she had mistaken me for someone else: Director? Naw. Producer? Naw. Guy who changes the light bulbs? Maybe. Or did she perhaps think I was a writer? Well, as a matter of fact, that’s what I was. I had just been talking to an editor and a studio executive and been informed that a check would soon be forthcoming.
What I’d been doing there, that summer’s day in Hollywood, was pitching a story. My words were my pitch. Next part of the process would be a return to New York and the execution of a script. Now, I’d never before sold fiction to television, but the procedure I was involved in was pretty familiar. It was the procedure I’d followed in selling dozens of scripts to DC, Marvel, and Charlton, which were all comic book companies. Yep, the rituals for the initial contacts in the two businesses, comics and teevee, were virtually identical. (The monetary rewards, alas, were not, but that’s a lament for another occasion.)
That was then. This isn’t. My recent professional contacts with the funnybook dodge, over the last decade-plus, have been spotty, but all of them, with a single possible exception have involved my delivering a written pitch to an editor before beginning a script. The talking part of the editor-writer encounter seems to have vanished. Let us pause while we gnash our teeth, rub ashes into our sackcloth tunics, tear our hair (and good luck doing this to me) and then shrug and get on with our day. So the rules have changed. So what hasn’t?
Exactly. Let’s not think about what ought to be, damnit, let’s think about what is. And then get on with it. If I were to voice a complaint, maybe in a coal bin at midnight, in the very softest of voices, it would concern efficiency and fairness to writers.
You, writer guy, has a conversation with editor guy. Questions are exchanges, Suggestions are offered. When the writer guy finally goes to the elevator, both parties know what’s expected, the exact nature of the task ahead. This doesn’t mean that there won’t be any confusion and/or misunderstanding, but maybe there will be less because there will be less opportunity for them. The writer won’t lose time doing rewrites – and for freelancers, no kidding, time is money – and the editor more likely to get the job on deadline and waste red ink doing corrections.
Is everybody happy?
Oh, you know better than that. This isn’t the Big Rock Candy Mountain. But the with the preliminary conversation – the verbal pitch – the job would be done, expertly and professionally, and you could watch this week’s episode of Supergirl with a clear conscience.
Nnewts Book Two: The Rise of Herk By Doug TenNapel 202 pages, Scholastic Graphix, $19.99 (hc)/$10.99 (pb)
I admire Doug TenNapel’s imagination and productivity. A new year and a new book from the cartoonist. This year’s offering is the second instalment in his new Nnewts universe, a follow-up to last year’s Escape from the Lizzarks.
It’s a colorful, imaginative world of varying races and creatures but the basic battle between good and evil remains recognizable to readers. The Nnewts are one of the predominant races and poor Herk was intentionally born with weak legs, all part of some master destiny. He gains magical powers and is called upon to use them to protect Amphibopolis from the threat of the vile Snake Lord.
The story is also about family, the one made from blood and the one made from love. He’s been separated from his brother Zerk, raised by Pikk and his mother but Zerk found by their sister Sissy. When the three meet up late in this second volume, it’s an explosive confrontation.
In the meantime, the Snake Lord is back, but stuck in the form of a radish (don’t ask, Doug’s not explaining) and manipulates events to bring about the Spell of Spells, using the Blakk Mudd to turn everyone in the city into Lizzarks, cementing his rule. Of course, Herk and his newfound magical abilities, stand between him and victory.
The book moves along at TenNapel’s usual frenetic pace, mixing action with comedic bits, and never lingering too long on one set or set of characters. It moves quickly which is probably why his work does so well with the 8-12 year old it’s aimed at. His visual design, aided by Katherine Garner’s excellent color work, no doubt entices readers. The finale between the bestial Megasloth and the Snake Lord’s avatar is pretty cool.
As with most Graphix series, I feel there need to be recap pages since readers may not recall key details or characters when there’s a year between volumes. TenNapel does fill in the background in the book’s first third so does better than some of his compatriots.
On the other hand, like the other series, there’s a cliffhanger so it’s not a complete story with several threads leaving readers hanging until 2017. For the price, there should be a more complete tale and fewer threads.
So last night I got the chance to attend the world premiere of Batman: Bad Blood. It was overall a great film; DC is really winning at animated movies. Additionally, this was the first time that Batwoman and Batwing were featured in a DC animated film.
I praise the filmmakers for handling both race and sexual orientation with dignity and respect. At no time during the film did I ever feel that they abused the characters or use their diversity to define them. I really mean that; they handled sexual orientation and race great. Do you see the “but” coming up ahead yet?
The thing I’m going to be miffed at is the female issue. The cast had four named female characters. The first one was our heroine, Batwoman. The second and third were the villains, Onyx and Talia Al Ghul. The fourth was a Wayne Enterprises board member whose name I don’t recall but her basic purpose was to bitch and nag at Lucius Fox. So once we discount her as a non-player in this equation, we have three major female characters. No, you’re wrong; I’m not complaining about lack of female characters. (They actually address that issue at the spoiler event I won’t mention. Another win for the filmmakers to be honest.)
It’s the fight scenes. They had fantastic fight choreography and they don’t get stale in the action. Here’s that “but” you saw coming. Batwoman shows up and ends up fighting one of the two female villains. She rarely fights the main male villains and when she does, she is overpowered every time. The female villains are easier challenges for her. Sigh. She is a military trained fighting machine! She should not go down so quickly in every single fight.
Here is the worst part: I was willing to not dwell on it. It was her first animated appearance, plus it’s obvious they want to continue growing the Bat Family on screen. She will be back so hopefully her next appearance will show a well-rounded superhero.
Then the after-screening panel started. Director Jay Oliva said all the right things; made all the right points about race, gender, sexual orientation, and how fans can keep these things coming if only they support with their moolah. (I’m paraphrasing but I think I get bonus for the correct use of moolah.) I really believe that he wants to showcase strong women in his films and I know that he likes to focus on female superheroes. But then Oliva said how he made sure to include a girl fight in the film and I literally facepalmed right there. I wish someone had taken a picture because I hit my face so hard, I think I left a mark.
Forcing a girl fight isn’t natural. We all know that Batman has fought a woman. We all know that Batwoman has fought a man. However, when two woman are on opposite sides, they must fight because some mysterious movie rule. Can someone give me a list of those? Seriously, I need this list of movie rules for minorities.
You don’t need to include a girl fight for the sake of the girl fight. It doesn’t really add anything of substance to see the women fighting each other. There are occasions where a “girl fight” can add to the story. But to deem it a necessity just for the sake of no actual worthy reason is frankly insulting. Women can be on opposing teams and just fight the opposing males. It’s ok.
In an equal world, women can fight men just like they can fight women. I’m not saying that every time they will be victorious, or that women can only fight men. But I would rather not see how an action sequence is going to play out before it starts. Give the female superhero and villain a change. The results will surprise you and I’m betting in the best possible way.
You’ve probably heard this one; the story has been going around for more than a half-century.
During the 1950s, publishers and sales directors would carefully gawk at their covers, most often all tacked up on one wall, and discuss sales figures and the all-important “sell-through” percentages, the latter being the percentage of comics sold against the number of comics printed. They would try to figure out what cover elements sold best. Mind you, this wasn’t simply an activity of the 1950s: in the late 1970s I started at DC’s wall of covers and noticed Batman was dead on a half-dozen separate titles. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have pointed this out.
But getting back to the 50s, the story goes there were three elements that caught the readers’ eyes: the color purple (no, not the movie; that was much later), fire, and talking apes. That’s the folklore, and it reeks of truthiness. Being who I am – an obnoxious sot – I maintain there was a fourth element.
Rainbows.
There were a hell of a lot of rainbow covers back in the day. I admit they attract the eye, although not so much the imagination, as compared to all those talking ape covers. My favorite by far was on Detective Comics #241, “The Rainbow Batman.” The cover was drawn by Shelly Moldoff and the story itself was written by science-fiction master Edmond Hamilton and penciled by Shelly and inked by Stan Kaye.
The plot is irrelevant, at least for my purposes today. I was six years old at the time – yep, obnoxious and precocious is a wonderful combination in a human of that age. Anyway, the story worked for me and it still works for me because, like many Geek Culture fans, I suffer from the disease called “nostalgia.”
So, when I saw that DC will be coming out with a set of Rainbow Batman action figures this summer, I let out a apoplectic yelp that is common to our ilk but generally perceived as childish by mainstream humanity…
If such exists.
But I’ll cop to the childish part. I immediately texted the link to The Point’s Mike Raub, knowing full well he would have a similar reaction. I did not share it with my daughter, who has been tolerating such nonsense most of her life. But I bet she’ll find this sort of cool.
Yes, I know Funko Pop did such a set several months ago, but it wasn’t realistic. Think about that for a moment. That’s not realistic? Well, no, it’s not: the real Rainbow Batmen were not hydrocephalic.
Childish as it may be – well, is – I shan’t be playing with the Rainbow Batman action figures in my bath.
Norm of the North is the worst movie I’ve ever seen in a theater. There was not a single aspect of this movie that indicated that any more than the minimum amount of effort was expended by anyone in the production process. It’s a lifeless dud all the way around; the kind of movie that had me wondering if I could get away with walking out after the first half hour and reviewing the delicious burrito I ate for lunch instead. But I endured, and instead I’m here to tell you about this wretched disaster of a movie.
I have no stomach for lazy animation. Norm of the North is some of the worst animation work I’ve ever seen. The character models have a bizarre lack of detail and the textures often feel slapped on. There’s a killer whale character in the first act of the movie that looks like a concept drawing for an Alien xenomorph. The environments are flat including the most lifeless depiction of New York City I’ve seen on film since I Am Legend. There’s no activity in the background unless it is going to directly involve itself with the scene. Everything about the visual language of the film communicates that this is a dead world inhabited by haunting marionettes made by someone who had never seen a person or an animal with their own eyes. I don’t think Pixar, Dreamworks, or Disney would put out animation this bad for an interstitial scene on a mobile app, let alone a feature film, because it would be too embarrassing, I wish Norm of the North felt the same shame.
When my father saw substandard animation he would often say it would be better off as a radio play, and that is absolutely not the case with this film. This movie strains my suspension of disbelief at every turn in a way that a movie about Dracula running a hotel never did. The events and character motivations never feel organic or even like they follow naturally from the scene that preceded it, just like it was picked from whatever goldfish bowl passed for a rewrite here. It’s not clever, it’s not funny, it’s not provocative, and it’s just there because something needs to happen. There’s a hodgepodge of attempted morals that are adopted and dropped as soon as the scene is over it doesn’t even seem particularly committed to the stated goal of protecting the arctic.
I’m almost okay with Norm of the North being a terrible movie— mistakes happen even if they seem to involve two production companies and a major distributor having no idea what a coherent film are— but this isn’t just a bad movie, this wants to be a terrible franchise. The lemmings seem designed to be a spin-off property like the Minions before them (they got almost all of the laughs in my audience) and God forbid we allow those things to happen organically anymore. The “Arctic Shake” dance numbers come out of nowhere and have no service to plot or character, so I can only conclude there’s a nefarious piece of merchandise around the corner or some desire to go viral.
Reading that last sentence I get that I sound a little unhinged, as if I’m suffering from some sort of acute Norm of the North derangement, but that’s where I’m at with this movie. It was bad, worse than normal bad movies, worse than Pixels (the movie I just named the worst of 2015), it’s a movie so horrible that I find it hard to believe it’s a simple failure and instead begin to see it as an elaborate conspiracy to make a movie so insulting to the taste of any reasonable viewer. I would believe this move was the result of a bet between two executives about how bad a movie could be and still make a profit. I would believe this was some kind of Producers-esque scam and has been financed several times its budget only to be a surefire failure. Anything is better than believing this is an honest effort to make a good film, because it’s so heart wrenching to imagine that the gigantic team responsible for an animated movie could fail so spectacularly. It hurts to think of years of collective effort turning out this boring, ugly, nonsense.
Last year I wrote an article called the Middleman. ComicMix and Bleeding Cool ran versions of the piece. Written during a time the news was full of accounts of unarmed black men and women being killed. I was also diagnosed with severe depression during that period. My article was my account of what series of events may end my life. I firmly believe as an African American man my life can be cut short by simply exercising rights that white men take for granted.
White men can say anything they want at any time without giving it a second thought. Once, Denys Cowan and I were told “carry our bags” by two white guys in a Texas airport. They were joking and thought the whole thing hilarious. If we were joking with them Denys and I would have been the first to laugh. We weren’t and we didn’t. What could we do? We were two black men in Texas.
A few weeks ago I saw this white guy get out his car, throw his keys on the ground, and then rip up the ticket a cop had just given him while the cop watched. All the time screaming at the cop like a maniac such gems like, kiss my ass, fuck you, and I’m not paying shit!! Nothing happened to him, the cop just calmly wrote another ticket,
Me? I’m so distrustful of the way black men are treated by the police if I simply utter the words Lower Alabama with someone I was joking with, the cops may be called to arrest me. Yes, I know that’s far fetched, ridiculous, preposterous and simply outrageous.
And that is exactly what happened to me at a Hilton in Orange County California.
I was told I had 20 minutes to leave the hotel or the cops would be called and charges would be pressed because, I said, “To me, L.A. means Lower Alabama.”
Why? Somehow these two words insulted a pretty white lady’s grandfather, that’s why. The grandfather was not there and I was talking (and laughing) with the woman moments before, I don’t believe him but even if true clearly it was a misunderstanding and what of it?
I’ve had great relationship with Hilton Hotels all my life with wonderful memories of my stays there. It was at the New York Hilton I sat with one of my idols the artist Ernie Barnes while still a student at the High School of Art and Design. The New York Hilton was also where Clarence Avant, Chairmen of the board Motown booked a suite for my then wife so she and her friends did not have to travel to New Jersey after the 1993 Janet Jackson concert at Madison Square Garden. It was her birthday but Mr. Avant wanted me in L.A. for an important conference. I thought my wife would feel slighted. Mr. Avant sent her six front row tickets to the concert and I wasn’t missed at all.
Who am I to be summoned by one of the greatest and most powerful man in music? I’m the guy kicked out and threatened with arrest for daring to utter the words Lower Alabama.
When asked what hotel I’d like her in, without a second’s hesitation I said the New York Hilton. There was never really any other choice. My life long BFF Lee Speller and I would often gaze out the window of our job at the Hilton. We were hoping to see some booty and very often we did. Lee and I were Pinkerton guards in collage. One of our few shared posts (assignments) was the J.C. Pennys corporate office building at 1301 6th Ave. right across the street from the Hilton.
The Grand Central Hilton was the spot my brother from another, Bill Sienkiewicz, and I met every so often just to hang. Most times Bill would take a later train to Connecticut so we could talk bit more. That’s where Bill and I fell in love…
I can rarely speak of Bill without inserting some humor and although this gets dark in a moment thinking about those days with my friend, now one of the greatest illustrators of our time makes me happy. Not as happy as a returned call, text and occasional booty call, but happy nevertheless.
A caution, my humor love of friends and a promise made are all that have kept me from falling deeper into a despair where more than once I wondered if my solution was a bullet to my head. A smile and some silliness over cherished memories do in no way lighten this narrative.
My Hilton memories span over 30 years and one of the highlights was sharing the stage with Orlando Jones at the 2015 Eisner Awards at the Hilton San Diego Bay Front. I’m a Gold Hilton Honors member with more than a few stays in Presidential Suites at a Hilton. Some of those stays were complementary upgrades and anyone with access at Hilton can verify what I’m saying.
In fact, everything I say is easily verified.
Who am I to get kicked up to the Presidential suite for free? I’m the guy kicked out and threatened with arrest for daring to utter the words Lower Alabama. I’m the guy just caused unimaginable harm who’s considering which of the resources I have at my disposal to utilize.
What kind of resources do I speak of? The kind I used when UPS made the mistake of dismissing me. They lost a valuable package of art and tried at first to claim it was the sender’s fault. I was told it was impossible to track 26 pages of what they assumed was now scattered over some never to be found land.
The art was from Denys Cowan, one of the greatest black comic book artists in America, and was to be showcased at a galley show. That show, Milestones: African Americans In Comics Pop Culture & Beyond has since become the most successful show at the Geppi Entertainment Museum and one of if not the most successful show on African American Comics and Pop Culture.
Who am I to be chosen by a world-class museum to curate such an important show and significant piece of black history? I’m the guy kicked out and threatened with arrest for daring to utter the words Lower Alabama.
UPS found every single impossible to find page. They did so because corporate saw a bigger problem and made their people do the right thing. There was no silly Lower Alabama catch phrase for anyone to rally behind. Nor was there any video that tells the entire story like exists here.
Do not take my words, video, or narrative for gospel. Everything I speak of can be found on-line and as far as what happened at the OC Hilton I’m sure the powers that be at the Hilton will use their own videos and check my account against the front desk managers and I’m counting on that.
I fully support that and cannot wait to see them for I’d wager the film is vastly different than any report done before this article and that will be hard to explain. The tapes going missing will be hard to explain, the lack of a report will be hard to explain any additional narratives added to the front desk managers ‘report’ will be hard to explain. If there is any editing done to ‘cover up’ something (I’m not saying there is), now there is a reason to call the police. That’s would be an attempt to deliberately alter a report with the aim of doing me harm.
Oh, and UPS? Nowadays I can send a thought and UPS will make sure it gets there.
2016 begins my third year of unbelievable suffering. It seems each time a light bulb of hope appears above my head it goes out. The bulb doesn’t dim or fade or even ‘click’ off. It’s stamped out, smashed, the shattered shards of glass cutting my face making sure I remember just how damaged I am.
This all started when I called and asked for a late check out. As a Gold Honors member that’s a guarantee if possible. I was under the impression this would not a problem. It was. They gave me an hour pass the usual checkout time noon. I then asked if they had a short stay rate and what would that rate be until 4 p.m. I was told that rate would be the exact same rate as if I booked another night and get this – I’d still have to vacate the room.
I hate to rush, so I booked the room for another night to avoid the drama of having to deal with this anymore although I planed to leave after my next meeting, still a few hours because I had to get home.
Some time later I get a call from the front desk manager. She said I had to leave the room because they had booked someone else in it. Now, how is this my problem? I’ve already booked and confirmed another night. I’m already in the suite and that should have been that. A guest being asked to leave a room they had booked and confirmed? I’m sure that is not Hilton policy and I’m also sure if pressed the manager would have to concede the point.
I consented to move but told her it makes no sense for me to move into another room for another night when I only needed the room I’m in for another hour or so. That said, I asked what could be done so I’m not being taken advantage of?
I was told to check out, come down and she would take care of me. I told her it would take me a moment because I had to pack up a great deal of computer and camera equipment.
I explained this and she seemed OK until she called back and told me “you must vacate the room!” She sounded angry but had no leave to speak to me in that manner and it was my intention to tell her so. Once everything is out of the suite I’m on the line to see the front desk manager, she’s pointed out, I ask if I can have a moment but although she’s looking right at me she turns her back and leaves. I won’t suggest she did that on purpose, she was leaving for the day and most likely did not register my inquiry. I found this out from the front office manager who took over.
He was very professional and as such I asked if I could talk freely and rather he would be offended if I did. He said he had an open mind and wanted to hear what I had to say. I explained the rude manner the previous manager spoke to me and that its something I simply don’t tolerate. He listened closely so much so I told him I appreciated him taking the time to hear my vent and told him this.
I showed him the contact I had for the CEO of Hilton Worldwide whom I had met and although he and I were not boys (friends) by any means and the chances he remembered me were slim. This was done for no reason than to give an indication I knew of what I spoke. My objective was a simple one: for him to please tell that manager her tone was unacceptable and if I wanted to I certainly could with a bit of an impact, have her called on the carpet.
I then asked my iPhone what my name was to underscore the point was and add some humor. No idea if he thought it funny because after I played it I stepped away to allow someone to speak to him. I did that for anyone who formed a line behind me and there were a few. Two such people waiting on line for the front desk were a white couple who struck up a conversation with me. I found them charming and likable. Unless howling laughter means ‘screw you’ where they are from they found my company just as charming.
We talked for bit and they asked if I was from L.A. I said I was from New York and although I had a residence in Los Angeles to me L.A. means Lower Alabama. I then turned back to the front desk manager who clearly was no longer the calm pleasant human being I kept thanking for his time. His tone was now hard and he seemed angry.
“What is it you want? I’m not comping you a room, so what it is you want?” He asked.
“Where this coming from? A second ago we were fine. What is this?” I said.
“That was before you insulted a guest.” He told me this and I’m thinking, he’s kidding. He was not. I ask what he thought I did. He pointed to the white couple and told me I had insulted the grandfather of the young lady.
“Her grandfather is from Alabama!”
I see things clearly when faced with crazy. There was no grandfather there, the couple didn’t say a word to me about being upset and looked like they were fine. This was crazy. I told him I had done no such thing and I was just going too leave.
My present headspace had no room for this kind of stupidity. The best thing for me to do is distance myself from any and all drama hence I was leaving before crazy got crazier.
Too late, the front desk manager said, “You have 20 minutes to do so.”
What processed him to say that is beyond me. I was alreadyleaving my back was to him. I turned back and asked, “Or what? You call the police?”
Yep.
The front desk manager said he was going to call the police because I insulted a woman’s (I was talking and laughing with) grandfather (who was not there) because I said; L.A. stands for Lower Alabama.
You don’t have to be a genius to know I insulted no one.
insult
verb |inˈsəlt| [ with obj. ]
speak to or treat with disrespect or scornful abuse: you’re insulting the woman I love.
noun |ˈinˌsəlt|
1 a disrespectful or scornfully abusive remark or action: he hurled insults at us | he saw the book as a deliberate insult to the Church.
a thing so worthless or contemptible as to be offensive: the present offer is an absolute insult.
2 Medicine an event or occurrence that causes damage to a tissue or organ: the movement of the bone causes a severe tissue insult.
The front desk manager then proceeded to beat me like he had a right to do so.
To be clear, no one touched me. A punch never landed on me for there was none thrown but it felt as if I was beat with a brick. I’d done nothing but that’s not where the pain came from. The pain came from the realization this man thought so little of me he could have the police arrest me over something any reasonable person would find silly.
The pain was because he was most likely right.
The front desk manager came from behind the desk and summoned some big white guy and both came towards me. The white guy had a kind face and clearly his heart was not into the bum rush I was about to endure. I backed out of the hotel repeating (taking care not to sound to blackish) “I did nothing.”
I backed out while at the same time trying to use my cell phone video. I got some but there are others who videotaped the entire thing. In my car I sat for a few moments trying to calm down then with a shock realized the manager had likely called the police. I did nothing, but a for a black man, doing nothing meant nothing if the cops are called.
I was sure I’d be arrested or worse. I had to get out of that parking lot. As soon as I exited a quickening heartbeat and hyperventilation began and I thought I was going to die. I fear the police because an injustice has more than once been the result of my dealings with them. I had done nothing but my heart would not stop pounding and now my tears are starting to flow because I’m livid I have to endure this unjust bullshit.
The Middleman was a suicide note written for every black man. The note taken from what would have been mine. I’m suffering from severe depression and each day is a challenge. I stay home; I stay off of the net stay away from the news stay away from social media. So when I’m told I have 20 minutes to leave a hotel one I have a long wonderful relationship with because I somehow offended a guest with a silly sentence or the cops will be called that is just as real as telling me I may be shot if I don ’t leave in 20 minutes.
How so?
Once the police arrived I would have insisted I had done nothing wrong and demand the manager show cause why I was being treated in such a way. I would not make any move nor issue any threats. That may not have mattered I may have been beaten, or shot.
Think that far-fetched? It is. But it’s a distinct possibility as any black man falsely arrested or black woman who just buried her 12-year old son shot for playing with a toy gun in a playground will tell you.
I’d say less far fetched than having the cops arrest you because you may have insulted someone you just met. Insulted them with two words you had no way of knowing were insulting. Insulting someone who felt her grandfather was somehow wronged in the way you used those two words even though he wasn’t there to hear it in the first place and by had no idea it was insulting.
Far-fetched has a different meaning when you have to fear your lighthearted conversation at the Hilton may get you arrested. Your freedom of speech during such a conversation ignored. It was a private conversation, ignored, I was a guest, and a Hilton Honors member to boot all ignored.
Don’t know if the young lady was an honors member but I do know she was white. I may be wrong but I don’t think she was upset at all, but if she was why was this the business of the Hilton? We were talking having a lighthearted conversation if something said, was off putting why tell the front desk manager? There was no dispute, no intimidation no danger of Lower Alabama hurting more innocent victims or their grand daddy’s.
Let’s flip it. What does the front desk manager do if I made the complaint?
“That woman just insulted my grandfather although she has no idea what she said or who he is or why it should be hurtful!” “She did what? I’m giving her 20 minutes then I call the cops and have here arrested!” Yeah, right. At most I would hear, “I’m sorry sir but there is nothing I can do about that.”
What that front desk manager did was wrong. Who he did it to was unfortunate for him but no one should be subjected to that type of completely bias and in my case potentially dangerous management.
Orange County California has a reputation of being racist. Again, don’t take my word for it, do the research. As a black man I can tell you the climate is not welcoming but I’ll also be the first to tell you that ‘climate’ is nothing tangible and not something to hang a ‘racist’ tag on an entire community. I’ve been to the OC many times with no problem but then again when you’re a black man you tend to ‘watch your step’ places where you know the climate does not favor you.
That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never had a problem within the OC community. That is until a certain front desk manager decided the police had to be called because I had insulted a pretty white girl’s grandfather when I stated, ‘L.A. stands for Lower Alabama.’ What’s funny is the line is actually positive towards Alabama (where my stepfather was from and where I spent my summers) and the south as a whole.
I was threatened with arrest because I insulted someone with a riff from a James Brown song, a riff celebrating the south.
James Brown. Where’re you from, Albert?
Albert: Georgia.
J.B.: What part, man? Georgia’s got a big—. What?
Albert: Macon, Georgia.
J.B.: Macon. Don’t say it so low, bro. You make me think you don’t want the people to
hear you or something. …
Fred, where’re you from?
Fred Wesley: L.A.!
Band: Uh oh! Uh oh! [Laughter.]
J.B.: What you say?
Fred: L.A.
J.B. L.A.? Oh no man! We may have to make some changes.
You can find that riff in most live recordings of Escapism and/or Make It Funky. The riff may change a bit but the L.A. punch line is always there. The point? To celebrate the South. Any implied ‘insult’ came from the mind of that young woman or more likely from the front desk manager? I said, to me L.A. stands for Lower Alabama. Where’s the insult?”
This one incident does not make the OC racist. Although I doubt if calling the police over such trivial bullshit would be done if the front desk manager was not sure the cops would be supportive. I also doubt the cops would have been called if I were white. In my opinion this type of ridiculous misuse of authority is the reason The San Diego Comic Con International will never and should never move to the OC.
SDCC isn’t a convention, it’s a culture. It’s not just people in silly costumes parading around, it’s people who share a love of something that is hard to understand if you’re not one of us. In San Diego, there is no reason to think walking into a hotel lobby dressed as a character from an obscure comic book will get the police called on you. Even if said character is wearing a replica weapon and is a black man. In 40 plus years no one has been shot by the police nor has the police been called because someone was wearing a gun that looked too real during their show.
The police have talked to fans even cautioned fans about the wearing of certain items. That’s just common sense. I book between 20-50 hotel rooms a year at SDCC and have for 20 plus years. I’ve never been afraid to talk about anything at any hotel I’ve booked, nor has my staff or guests.
I’ve picked a fight with Klingons, screamed “Hey Batman, if I don’t get my money I’m telling everybody who you are!” followed by “Batman is Bruce Wayne!”
I did so knowing the management would get the joke and even if they didn’t I was safe from the police.
But in Orange County California, if I say something that’s positive, funny and no business of the front desk manager at all, I could be put in jail without even a second thought? That’s reason enough for me to think perhaps the OC is a bit racist and to oppose loudly any move of the SDCC to the OC.
I stated earlier I had to get home that day but I couldn’t. I was so shaken up by my humiliating treatment, I couldn’t drive, thoughts of police cruisers pulling me over contributed to my already screwed up head that I missed saying goodbye to Dexter, my dog of 10 years, hours earlier I learned had fallen ill and was suffering.
I had to grant permission to end his suffering to kill him without being able to hold him one last time and say goodbye.
If the front desk manager was looking for an insult, there it is.
Lastly, I was the keynote speaker at an event held in Huntsville Alabama at the University Of Alabama last year. The event
focused attention on the sexual abuse of women on America’s college campuses. The people of Huntsville were warm and welcoming to me. City officials have told me I’m to be made an honorary citizen of Huntsville and given the key to the city soon. That will be kind of achievement my mother would be so proud of if she were still here.
She lived to see her son survive the projects although her other child and mother did not. One of her greatest joys was seeing
Her daughter Sharon live on in the hit animated show Static Shock and when The Gordon Parks Academy named its auditorium The Michael Davis Auditorium.
Who am I to receive such honors? The key to a wonderful city? My name on the auditorium of a school named for one of the greatest thinkers of the 20th Century?
I’m the guy kicked out and threatened with arrest for daring to utter the words Lower Alabama in 2016 America.
This past weekend I attended the annual Sherlock Holmes fandom celebration, a.k.a. the BSI Weekend in New York City; a time I always thoroughly look forward to and enjoy. The weekend is great both for the setting (so much to see and do in NYC, both Sherlockian and otherwise) and for the friends (new and old) that attend.
A non-Sherlockian highlight of my weekend was getting to see the current production of The King and I on Broadway. I was especially happy to be able to see Hoon Lee in the title role of The King of Siam, as I was already familiar with and had been privileged to previously discuss with him his excellent portrayal of Master Splinter in Nickelodeon’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a voice acting role that requires an actor with both excellent sense of comedy and timing, and a broad emotional range. Both main roles of The King and I, i.e. The King of Siam and Anna Leonowens, fall into this category as well, and I was delighted to see both Hoon as The King and Kelli O’Hara as Anna absolutely killing it in their respective parts.
Both actors ably embodied the show’s by turns humorous and poignant or serious elements, and brought immense presence to the stage; and the other characters were also incredibly well acted. The sets, costumes, and choreography were beautiful, and the music and singing was phenomenal as well. I highly recommend seeing the show if you have the opportunity.
And finally, a huge highlight of my weekend which ventured into both Sherlockian and non-Sherlockian territories was the opportunity to sit down for a chat with actor Curtis Armstrong(of Revenge of the Nerds, Risky Business, The Closer, Dan Vs., American Dad, King of the Nerds, Supernatural, and much more).
During our interview we got to discuss the new Amazon series, Highston, in which Curtis plays a main role as Uncle Billy (and the first episode is already available to watch here). We also talked about his role as Metatron on Supernatural, and what it’s like to work on an established and ongoing TV series. We chatted about how Curtis prepares for roles; and about his experiences with fandom. And, of course, we talked about being Sherlockians, as Curtis is a big fan of Conan Doyle’s clever consulting detective, and that’s how we met in the first place! (Sherlock Holmes, bringing people together since 1887.)
I had a great time talking with Curtis, who is an absolute delight; and I’m sure you will think the same if you give the full interview a listen right here.
So check it out! And until next time, Servo Lectio!
Secret Hero Society: Study Hall of Justice By Derek Fridolfs and Dustin Nguyen Scholastic, 176 pages, $12.99
DC Comics and other companies with rich libraries, have decided to slice and dice their properties to fit whatever audience they think they can service. Fidelity to the source material has become increasingly irrelevant so to enjoy most adaptations, you have to accept that, sit back, and enjoy the work for what it is. Such is the case with the latest offering from the team of Derek Fridolfs and Dustin Nguyen, who produced the youth-oriented Batman: Li’l Gotham for DC and are back with the first in a series of YA graphic novels under the Secret Hero Society umbrella.
Study Hall of Justice is set at the Ducard Academy and Bruce Wayne has just been accepted as a new student. Upon arrival, his keen senses already tip him off that things are not what they seem and throughout this book he pieces the clues together although long-time comic readers will figure it out long before.
The school is run by and populated by an all-too familiar cast of characters, heavily taken from the Batman mythos although the gym teacher is Zod and his homeroom teacher is Mr. Grundy. You chuckle at the notion of Vandal Savage as the history teacher or Siobhan McDougal (a.k.a Silver Banshee) as the choir director.
The students are drawn from around the world with Diana from distant Themyscira and Bane from South America although little is made of the international population. Instead there’s Joe Kerr as the class clown and other students are identified as Oswald and Circe. What’s interesting is that despite a blur suspected to be a student, no other hero is among the middle school population, It falls to Bruce, Clark Kent, and Diana to band together, despite all odds, to figure out why they’re being carefully evaluated for a place called Nanda Parbat.
The humor is gentle and the characterization is surface only as Fridolfs and Nguyen hurry us from September through June in 176 pages with asides for schedules, maps, and chat sessions taking up prime real estate. Fridolfs gets the basic right for the varying personalities, sandpapered down to the 8-12 year old readership. Similarly, Nguyen’s pleasing art makes everyone just recognizable enough although sometimes his characters seem drawn for elementary school not middle school.
Frankly, shoving a year into a single volume deprived the creators from a chance for doing anything fresh or unique with the characters. Instead, the archetypal personalities are on display and yes, they don their familiar outfits for the first time as part of a Halloween event although it makes their later adult secret identities superfluous. I wish more time was spent actually developing the characters from main to supporting so was more engaging.
No doubt the target audience will enjoy these but as a gateway to DC’s collected editions or periodicals, it fails since there is nothing between this and those remotely in common.
This week, I want to write about something I didn’t do.
I thought of this when I read this review of a new Valiant title, Faith. To quote from the lead, “Today’s comic book industry has problems. Not just editorial and creative problems but also problems from the pressures of Social Justice Warriors. These types of people make our lives miserable as comic fans. Always crying out for more diversity this and more diversity that. Most of the time you’ll discover these people don’t even read the comics they are clamoring for change to occur in. That’s always been the real pain in the ass for diversity in comics.”
